


stars and infinity on high

by breastlumps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Harry, Boys Kissing, Chocolate Milk, Coming In Pants, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, Late Night Conversations, Lots of it, Louis in Glasses, M/M, Slow Build, because, ok, okok, omg that's a tag, space talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breastlumps/pseuds/breastlumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry paints, louis learns how to smoke, and they have a lot of late night shenanigans</p>
            </blockquote>





	stars and infinity on high

**Author's Note:**

> hi me and liv wrote this and we're super proud of it. please enjoy!

It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining and and the birds are chirping; it's a scene straight out of a movie. And then there's Louis. He will never understand why he signed up to walk people’s dogs when they could do it themselves. And never in his life has he met a dog like Lucy.

Lucy has dragged him up and down the sidewalk for almost an hour and no matter how firmly Louis tells her to heel, she doesn't stop. She has peed on just about everything, including Louis’ own shoes, which squelch just a bit with every step he takes. When Lucy finally decides to squat for a number two, Louis sighs in relief and leans against the telephone pole they’re stopped beside. He turns away to give Lucy some privacy, glancing over every few seconds to see if she’s done.

Lucy finally finishes her business and rights herself, and just as Louis reaches for a plastic bag, Lucy's hind foot hits the pile she’s just produced on a hard kick and sends it splattering into the air, and all over Louis' pants. Louis just stares down at her in shock, before working up the courage to look down at himself. He groans loudly when he sees that he is indeed covered in dog shit, glaring at the group of young teenagers a bit further down the sidewalk that have their hands over their mouths, snickering at him.

"Oh, no, Lucy. Are you serious?" He asks the dog as he covers his hand with the plastic bag and tries to rid his pants of the stains. The dog looks up at him blankly before shaking her fur viciously.

Louis turns himself around to begin the walk back to Lucy’s house, prepared to give her back to her crusty old owner with a few strong words. When he gets there he hands over the leash and opens his mouth to say something but the old man hands him the money without a word.

He walks quickly back to his dorm and discards his ruined outfit. He drops the clothes into his hamper, deciding to do the laundry as soon as he has time. He grabs his bookbag and settles down at the desk in between his bed and the wall and pulls out his English textbook, starting to sneak in a long study before the exam that’s the next day. He tries to pretend he doesn’t smell like dog shit.

**  
**  
  


Louis may be the most unluckiest person on the world because only moments after he gets ready to study, his roommate, Niall, one of the loudest people in the city, comes with his bag hanging off his shoulder and a story to tell.

“You will never believe what happened to me today!” He sings, tossing his bag to the side and plopping himself down on the bed.

“I bet I won’t,” Louis says bitterly, taking off his glasses and laying them down on top of the open book.

Niall makes a sour face at him. “Someone’s salty.”

Louis raises his hands, “Guilty, but continue, please. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

Niall smacks his lips and claps his hands. “Right. Well, I met this dude, okay? Are you with me?” Louis sighs because this is going to be painfully prolonged and he doesn’t have the time nor the patience right this moment.

“I met this guy and he was so nice like, what the hell? His name is Liam and he was just, uh, shit. He was… fuck. What’s the word?”

 _Vexatious, interminable, boring as hell_ , Louis could supply two manilla folders consisting of the word Niall isn’t looking for. Louis rolls his eyes so far in the back of his head it hurts.

“Cute, sexy, hot, adorable. What are you looking for?” He asks putting his glasses back on. The blond turns to him with a face expressing his current emotion: annoyance.

“He was a gentleman, Louis.” He says as-a-matter-of-factly. “He paid for my coffee and wasn’t a complete dickhead like that one kid, Nick.”

“That was so long ago and it didn’t even make it to the ‘meeting the friends’ part! I would’ve thought you were over him by now.” He turns back to his text book. “Oh, and the way you talked to me about him made it seem like you guys were just friends anyway. Would’ve never guessed you guys were an actual couple.”

“You’re probably right but it doesn’t matter because I’ve got a new love!” Niall swoons.

Louis raises his eyebrows and mumbles two weeks. Niall thwacks him on the back of the head with a notebook.

“And by the way, you smell like shit.”

**  
**  
  
  


“I’m not good with being deep and meaningful,” Zayn says from the ratted recliner, his limbs slung over the arms of the furniture and his head lolled in Harry’s direction.

“Yet, you’re the one who’s into stars and zodiacs and picking at people’s mental state until you hit a nerve and become truly unbearable.”

Harry’s breathing is loud in the quiet room.

“For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream,” Zayn starts.

“Vincent Van Gogh.”

Harry rubs the back of his head with a clean paint brush, and his hair flops back down, covering the fresh red mark. Zayn hums in acceptance.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Paint?” Harry waits a moment and sighs, “Yes.”

There’s silence for a while until Zayn rises from his seat and comes over to place a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s 6:18 post meridiem,” Zayn says and Harry snatches up the pencil from his stool and scribbles the time in the top right corner. With one last pat, Zayn is no longer by his side, and he feels relieved.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and takes the tiny remote off of his lap, turning on the radio.

The sound sluices out and Harry wants to drown in every note and every beat of it. He rises to his feet and glides over to the windowsill. He sets the remote down and swipes the curtain open with no trouble, making a noise of approval at the sight of the dawning day. All the reds, oranges, and yellows mix and contrast to form something that he could only see once.

Sunsets and daybreaks are the only things in his life that have constantly changed and he thanks them for that, because if it wasn’t for them he’d wake up to the sound of Zayn snoring and an already lit sky and _what fun would that be?_

“No fun,” Harry answers himself as he grabs a few spare paint cans that lay around and wait to get rusty because they’ve got nothing better to do. Only because Harry’s been in an artist’s drought. Coming up with ideas for something that’s already planned is what college is about and what Harry can’t wait to get out of.

 _Only a few more months_ , he thinks as he gets his area situated. He picks out a few of the colors that he thinks might be able to do the sunrise justice, mixing a few together until he has exactly what he wants. He gazes out the window for another moment, taking in the sight, before picking a place to begin and dipping his brush into the lightest shade of orange.

His brush glides easily over the canvas as he works, smearing the radiant colors in its wake as he goes along. He tries to keep up with the sunrise, but every time he looks up, the position of the swirls of color have shifted just enough to change the whole picture.

He huffs in annoyance and flicks some hair out his face, working tempestuously. It bothers him that the image on his canvas is different from the one outside the window, but the more he tries to shift it to fit, the more the real sky changes. Eventually, he looks up to see that the sky has faded completely to blue, and his canvas is nothing but a wisp of different shades of red, orange and gold. He stares at his painting in dismay, letting his brush drop into the cup he has set out for it.

Zayn comes back from wherever he’d disappeared to and inspects Harry’s painting over his shoulder, telling him that it looks lovely. Harry growls lowly at him and turns to face him, pouting as Zayn takes a step back.

“You’re covered in paint, mate,” Zayn informs him, and Harry looks down at himself.

“I’ll do laundry later,” he mutters, turning back around to remove the canvas from the easel and set it to the side. “My inspiration is dry, Zayn. I’ve got nothing.” Zayn ruffles his hair affectionately without saying anything and disappears again, leaving Harry to plop down onto the floor and wait for inspiration to spark.

Harry sighs, replaces the canvas with a clean one and reorganizes his paints, determined to create something beautiful before tomorrow.

**  
**  
  


It's edging 10:20 and Harry's back aches and his head hurts. The music is off and the big window is cracked the slightest so he can hear to whistle of the cars and the low hum of people. Zayn periodically visited, turning one of the tall lights on and leaving. Harry has changed positions too many times and the paint has dried on his flannel and to the tips of his hair. He's dirty, yes, but he's also hungry. Hunger before cleanliness.

He gets up gradually, a hand pressing on his back to reduce the tingle of pain. He opens the door just enough for him to squeeze out of it and it’s awfully bright in the small room. Zayn’s laid out a plate for Harry and it’s sitting on the counter next to a note.

_I’m out and about. Enjoy your rice and raw fish. Love Zayn xx_

Harry takes the note and stuffs it in the pocket of his flannel and begins picking at the sushi. He eats it slowly, trying to get the most out of it, savoring the flavors.

He tosses the plate in the sink along with a the dirty silverware and wanders off into his bed room. The curtains are drawn, the glass door open a bit and the balcony is shaded in cool. He steps out, the cold cement having no effect on him.

No goosebumps, no shudders. He’s used to coming out late at night, having a smoke or two or three. Zayn joins him sometimes but on the nights when he leaves Harry to ‘wander around’, he’s with his lover, and Harry’s stuck by himself.

Harry knows he likes it that way and if it works, there’s no need to change it. That’s one thing he can’t stand. Change. As he looks up to the sky, he doesn’t know if he can see the world spinning or if he’s watching the clouds glissade, rippleless and unrestricted.

Now he has a cigarette hanging in between his index and middle finger, his thumb resting where he sucks it all in. His spare hand glides across the metal bar of the railing, keeping himself steady as he breathes in slow. The feeling of his lungs wearing away with every puff and pull makes his stomach tighten and that’s the only thing that can make him shudder.

“Disgusting.” He insufflates, tossing the stick to the ground.

The crunch of the leftover tobacco rings in his ears as he closes the doors behind him.

**  
**  
  
  


Louis wakes with a start, whimpering a bit and frowning when he finds that his cheek is stuck unattractively to his textbook. He peels his face off of the page and sits up, looking around himself for a moment.

The room is darker now than it was a few minutes ago, or at least, he thinks it was a few minutes ago. He remembers letting himself collapse forward onto the desk for just a short study break and realizes that its quite possible he fell asleep like that. A quick glance at the clock tells him yes, that’s exactly what happened. The last time he looked at the clock it was 8 something, but now it’s getting close to 11. And he has still learned approximately nothing.

He sighs deeply and gives up, deciding that sleep is more important than studying. But first, food. He walks out of his bedroom and down the corridor into the small kitchen, which is attached to the smaller living room. Niall is snoring loudly on the couch, the TV on quietly, and Louis smiles to himself and goes over to pet Niall’s hair affectionately. Niall kind of reminds him of a puppy.

“You wouldn’t shit on me, would you?” He hums softly, smiling down at Niall’s sleeping face and chuckling to himself. Niall opens his eyes suddenly and Louis jumps back, startled, flipping him off and scurrying from the room as Niall cackles loudly.

He makes himself a bowl of cereal and retreats back to his bedroom closing the door behind himself swiftly. He takes about one step into the room before wrinkling up his nose, looking around to find the source of the putrid smell. He groans loudly when he realizes it’s the scent of dog shit, and it’s coming from his abandoned clothes from earlier.

He sighs and turns himself around, going back to the living room. Niall is gone, presumably to bed, so Louis curls up on the couch and turns the TV back on. He eats his cereal quietly, cleaning up his bowl and spoon when he’s done and going back to the couch. He makes a mental note to get up and go do his laundry as soon as this program is over.

So naturally, he falls asleep on the couch. When he wakes up the time is flashing on the shitty old VCR they got from who-knows-where: 1:49am.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, dragging himself off the couch and to his room. The dog shit has stunk up the entire room by now, which is great. He throws open a window and gathers up all the clothes that could use a wash, throwing them into his washing basket and setting off. And before closing the door to his room, he grabs the book settling on the edge of the desk.

He hopes his room will air out before he gets back. He also hopes the laundromat will still be open at two am.

**  
**  
  
  


When Harry walks into the laundromat, the bell rings, and he mimics the sound with a quiet _ding_. There’s only one other person in the place and that makes sense because it is two in the morning. He’s sitting by a loud drying machine with a book in his hands.

Harry moves to a machine that’s closer to the boy, stuffs the clothes into the washer and puts in the money, glancing at the boy and the washing box. The machine starts to shake a bit, getting the clothes wet and soapy, so Harry’s job is done for now. He takes a seat next to the boy, which probably looks bizarre since there’s a whole other part of the store that’s untouched and quiet.

The boy looks up at Harry through his glasses, his trimmed eyebrows raised.

“Can I help you?” And if that isn’t the prettiest voice Harry’s ever heard then shit.

Harry clears his throat, “No, my apologies. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The boy, wearing a red _MARVEL_ sweater, looks back down at his book and continues reading.

Harry musters up some courage and asks with a steady voice, “What book are you reading?”

The other boy flashes Harry the cover. It reads, _The Grapes of Wrath_.

“Do you like history?” Harry asks, looking back up at the boy who nods.

“Specifically around the World War II era, yes.” The boy sticks a finger in between the pages and closes the book while he looks up at Harry.

He sticks out his hand, “I’m Louis.”

“Harry.” Harry shakes his hand firmly. Louis’ hand is smooth and his smile might be the best thing Harry's ever seen.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one that does laundry at two in the morning," Louis chuckles softly, giving him another small smile and then going back to his book. Harry doesn't realize he's staring until Louis looks back up at him, both of them blushing slightly.

Harry looks down at his feet and Louis looks back at his book, the only sound in the room the soft thumping of the dryer turning.

Harry thinks desperately about what to say, wanting to hear Louis' cher, delicate voice again. He’s never really felt like this before, is the thing.

He’s never really had a crush on anyone, or even found someone particularly attractive. Sure, he’s dated, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been in love, or anything close to it. He’s only just met this boy, Louis, and already his palms are sweaty and he’s nervous. He remembers his friends in primary school describing their first loves to him, and he thinks that’s what this feels like.

That’s creepy, though. He’s literally just met Louis, and he’s pretty sure that love at first sight is not a thing. He looks away when he finds himself staring again, determined to not be so attracted to this boy.

He decided he’s more of the non romantic type. He’s had relationships in the past but he’s always been happier out of them than in them. As he thinks it over, he doesn’t realize he is steadily shifting closer to Louis until their arms brush.

Louis jumps and looks up at him, but he doesn’t move away. Harry just looks at him, wondering how long it would take to count each one of Louis’ eyelashes. Louis stares back at him for a moment before he smiles, ducking his head and hiding behind his soft-looking fringe.

The loud buzz of the dryer startles the both of them so much that they spring apart, Louis’ book dropping to the floor. “Oh, shit,” he whispers to himself, but Harry still hears. He grins giddily at how cute Louis’ little profanity was, until he sees how Louis is pouting.

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, and Louis just looks up at him, as if to make sure Harry was talking to him.

“Lost my page,” he sighs, standing up and flipping through for a moment. Harry tilts his head and lets his eyes wander to Louis’ ass, which is located, conveniently, directly in front of his face. He snaps his eyes away when Louis turns around, looking up at his face.

“That’s mine,” Louis hums, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb at the dryer. He walks away and loads up his basket with the warm, sweet smelling clothes, turning around once more once he’s done. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Harry. I should get going,” he hums, showing Harry his cute little smile once more before he heads toward the door.

“Oh, bye,” Harry says softly, watching him go. “I hope you find your page!” He calls lamely once Louis is almost out the door. He’s answered by the honey-sweet sound of Louis’ laugh as the door closes behind him, and then it’s silent. Well, save for the one washing machine still running with Harry’s clothes inside.

Harry slumps back against the back of the bench and lets out a long breath, looking around the laundromat. His eye catches on the dryer that Louis was using, and he sees what appears to be a forgotten article of clothing on the floor in front of it. He walks over to pick it up and finds that, yes, it is an article of clothing. A pair of _MARVEL_ boxers, to be exact.

Harry laughs to himself for exactly one second before realizing that these are Louis’ and if he has them it means he has to return them, which means seeing Louis again. Exactly another second later he remembers he didn’t get Louis’ number and he has no idea where he lives. He stares down at the boxers longingly, before jumping a bit when the bell over the door jingles again.

“Hi, I’m sorry, but I got halfway back to my dorm and turned around because I’d quite like to get your n- Are those mine?”

Harry stares in shock at the door, where Louis is leaning against the doorjamb with his basket of clothes. “Oh, oh no, this is so embarrassing,” he laughs, but he’s blushing hard, walking over to snatch the pants from Harry’s hands. “These were a joke present from a friend,” he explains holding up the item in question and then dropping them into his basket.

“What were you saying?” Harry asks, wanting to get Louis back on the track he was on before he noticed Harry clutching his boxers in his hands like an absolute weirdo.

“Oh, never mind. I’m sure you don’t want my number now that you know I wear Spider-man boxers,” Louis laughs, and Harry frowns.

“Those were Hulk, though,” Harry corrects, and Louis blushes even harder. _Priorities, Harry_ , he thinks to himself. “Regardless,” he continues, before Louis can run away or something, “you’re wrong. I’d like your number,” he hums, and Louis raises his eyebrows at him. “Only because you wear Spider-man boxers.”

Louis laughs loudly in the small space and nods, putting his basket down on top of one of the dryers and handing Harry his phone. Harry taps his number in and hands it back, but not before sending himself a text so he will have Louis’ number as well. Louis grins and puts his phone back in his pocket, picking his basket back up and backing slowly toward the door.

“I’ll text you?” Louis hums, and Harry nods. Then Louis is gone, for real this time, and Harry absolutely does not whimper like a lost dog in the middle of the empty laundromat.

He doesn’t.

**  
**  
  


Harry has lost all regards for the laundry because he’s in a rush to get up to his room and finish this painting. Inspiration has struck, and he doesn’t want it to go away anytime soon.

He busts open the door, and the cold air hits him hard, but he goes straight to the blank canvas. He squirts the white paint directly onto the canvas and begins rubbing it in with his bare hand. His head is a rush of the memories of just moments ago.

Louis isn’t the trophy Harry didn’t get when he broke his leg playing soccer, but he’s the cast that held it and put it back in place.

Harry adds periwinkle to the mix, for the book Louis was reading; he adds cobalt for the way Louis’ eyes looked in the dying light of the laundromat. His eyes shined too bright for 2AM, Harry thinks. He mixes in gold for the way he absolutely glowed when he laughed.

Harry steps back after to gaze at his fresh work. He smiles.

“Nice.”

**  
**  
  
  


Louis wakes up and there’s text from Harry. Harry. The boy from laundry, right. He reads the text a few times.

_Morning is wonderful. Its only setback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day._

He replies, rubbing his eyes.

_Morning is an important time of day. How you spend it can tell you what kind of day you are going to have._

He checks the time in the corner of his phone: 8:13 AM. He’s awake and feels surprisingly okay for only six hours of sleep, but he sits up slowly, stretching and yawning loudly. His phone buzzes again, another text from Harry.

_It’d be better if you said yes to coffee in twenty?_

Louis scratches his cheek while a smile pulls at his lips, and he nods to himself.

_Where do you want to meet?_

__**  
**  
  


Surely enough when Louis walks in the small cafe at exactly 8:33, Harry is where he told him he would be. Louis goes over and pulls out the seat across from him, Harry looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looks cozy and warm cuddled up in a creamy sweater, his brown hair in a messy quiff. Louis smiles at him, scooting his chair in closer, resting his hands on his thighs.

He smiles. “Morning.” He slides over a teacup filled to the brim with what looks like coffee. “I got this for you. You look like a ‘no sugar’ kind of individual.”

“That I am, Harold.” Louis nods, pleased.

Harry huffs out a laugh and itches his neck, shaking his head. “It’s just Harry.”

He watches Louis take a sip of his hot coffee, analyzing the way his nose scrunches up when the liquid hits his tongue. Louis nods again.

“Okay, Harry. Do you do this every morning?” He asks, setting the cup down and resting his chin on the heel of his hand.

“Do what?"

Louis grins, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Coffee at 8:30? Do you do this with all the people you win over with those dimples?”

Harry looks down, stirring his coffee awkwardly. “No, actually. This is my first time.”

Louis looks surprised.

“Where do you take the other people? I assume because you’re quite the charmer.”

Harry clears his throat, his lips pressed together. “I don’t take anyone anywhere.”

Louis adjusts his glasses and coughs into his hand. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t like a lot of people.”

Louis blushes. He feels some what honored.

“So what makes me special, then?” He asks, propping his chin up with his hand and gazing at Harry, a small smile on his lips as Harry blushes and looks down again.

“I’m not sure, really. I’ve never- I don’t know. You were doing laundry at 2 in the morning and that sparked my attention so, yeah.”

Louis looks at him for a moment longer and then just smiles, deciding to accept that answer.

“So why were you doing laundry at two in the morning, anyway?” Harry asks after a moment.

Louis rolls his eyes and puts his coffee down on the table, not wasting a second before launching into his rant about Lucy.

**  
**  
  
  


An hour later finds Harry in front of his art professor, ready to hand in his painting.

He wrings his hands nervously as his professor reads the paragraph Harry had hastily completed approximately six minutes ago, hoping its enough to keep him from failing. Personally, he thinks his painting is amazing. A true masterpiece, maybe his best yet. But then, at the same time, whenever he looks at it all he can think of is Louis, so that probably attributes to its beauty. He hopes that translates with his professor.

The man sets Harry’s paper down gently and then turns to the painting, surveying it carefully. Harry watches with his bottom lip between his teeth as the professor cocks his head to the side and looks closer, like he might find something hidden in the swirls of color.

“Lovely,” the professor finally proclaims, clapping his hands together once and moving on to the next nervous student. She’s painted what could be a cat, or maybe a house. Harry’s not quite sure who told her it would be a good idea for her to major in art.

He sinks down onto his stool in relief, looking at his painting again. It’ll be up in the student gallery by tomorrow, he knows, and he wonders if Louis would like to come and see it once its there. Half of his grade for the assignment is presenting his art at the gallery the following night, so he might as well turn his homework into another date with Louis.

He wonders next if Louis might think its a little bit weird, since they’ve known each other for less than twelve hours and he’s already inspired a whole painting.

In the end, Harry texts Louis to meet him at the gallery the next night at 7.

_Are you going to wine and dine me first, Harold?_

Louis answers a few minutes later. Harry smiles at his phone for longer than he’ll ever admit.

_My place at 6?_

_You’re going to COOK for me Harold you’re a keeper._

Louis responds as Harry is packing up his stuff, meaning Harry grins to himself again as he’s walking out of the classroom.

_It’s just Harry._

He bites his lip trying to contain his smile all the way back to his dorm.

“You’re...smiling?” Zayn says incredulously.

Harry nods, slides his bag off of his shoulder and stuffs his phone in his pocket.

“Indeed I am, Zayn.”

Zayn comes over to him, “Who hurt you?”

“His name is Louis, and he didn’t hurt me. He said yes to dinner tomorrow, and he’s coming to see my art gallery afterwards.”

Zayn looks genuinely shocked, blinking his big brown eyes at Harry for a moment before leaning in and inspecting him closely.

“Are you feeling okay?” Zayn asks, pressing the back of his hand to Harry’s forehead as if to check for a temperature. Harry knocks his hand away and rolls his eyes. “You haven’t had a date since… Well, ever. Have you ever even been on a date?” Zayn asks, and Harry pushes him out of the way playfully and walks to the fridge.

“Yes, Zayn, I’ve been on dates before. Never ones that I’ve been particularly thrilled about, though,” he shrugs, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and leaning back against the counter. “Louis’... Different, I suppose. We met the other night in the laundromat and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him,” he confesses.

Zayn stares at him for a moment before he starts cooing loudly, bouncing over to ruffle Harry’s hair and poke at his stomach. Harry bats him away weakly, blushing and laughing softly.

“You’ve got it bad, mate,” Zayn informs him.

Harry just shrugs and grins, smacking a wet kiss to Zayn’s cheek and running off before the dark haired boy can retaliate.

He kicks his bedroom door shut behind him and flops onto his bed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He rolls onto his back and opens up his conversation with Louis, smiling to himself as he reads over their few texts. He wants to keep texting him for as long as possible, but Louis saves him the trouble of having to think of something to say.

_Okay then Just Harry what are we having for dinner?? (:_

Harry rolls back onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows, kicking his feet up in the air like a teenage girl. He finds it far too endearing that Louis does his smiley faces backwards.

 _It’s a surprise :)_ He texts back. A moment later he sees that Louis is typing.

_Your smiley is backwards_

_No it’s not!_ He answers, grinning so hard it hurts. He starts to type another message immediately. _YOUR smiley is backwards._

_You’re backwards. See you tomorrow (((:_

Harry keeps smiling at his phone for a while, until Zayn nearly breaks down the door to get him to come make lunch.

Harry makes him the best sandwich he is capable of and then asks him nicely to stay away from the dorm tomorrow night between the hours of 6 and 7. Zayn takes it well, all things considered.

**  
**  
  
  


Louis absolutely cannot find a single thing to wear.

He’s supposed to be at Harry’s place in twenty minutes for dinner, and he’s still standing in his underwear, looking for something to wear. Harry had said that they were going to an art gallery, which probably warrants something nicer than a t-shirt. With five minutes to spare he pulls on a neat, light blue button-up and his nicest pair of black jeggings. He only bought them in the first place because Niall told him they make his ass look great, which is definitely what Louis is going for.

It’s just that Harry is beautiful and cute and funny and quirky and Louis is hopelessly attracted to him, in a way that he’s never really experienced before. Harry said he was special, as well, which makes it all the more fun.

He arrives at the address in Harry’s text about two minutes late, taking a few seconds to catch his breath from running up the stairs. He knocks on the door and then quickly fiddles with his hair, making sure its still perfect before Harry opens the door.

Louis decides it was mostly futile to catch his breath before knocking, because the sight before him when the door opens is even more breathtaking than the run up the stairs.

Harry is dressed in all black, aside from his brown boots. His shirt is sheer and almost entirely see through, and his long curly hair is pulled up into a neat little bun. Louis takes a moment to let his eyes wander before snapping out of it, looking up at Harry’s blushing face.

“You look incredible,” he says dumbly, still just standing in the hallway like a tit.

“Thank you,” Harry hums lowly, stepping aside and opening the door a bit wider. “Please, come in. You look wonderful, as well.”

Louis steps inside the door and looks around quickly, before closing his eyes and moaning. “It smells absolutely amazing in here, Harol- Harry, what is that?”

“Chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham with a side of potatoes,” Harry smiles, leading Louis over to the table where the food is laid out. “I could teach you how to make it sometime, if you’d like.”

Louis chuckles and sits down, letting Harry serve him a helping of the delicious smelling meal. “Well, if all goes well, you won’t even have to teach me.” At Harry’s responding frown, Louis smiles and elaborates. “You can just keep making it for me.”

Harry grins and takes the seat across from him at the small table. They make small talk as they eat, and by the time they’re done Louis is stuffed full of food and has been smiling so much his cheeks are sore.

“We should head off now, I think,” Harry hums as he checks his watch. Louis helps him take the plates to the sink and then they help each other into their jackets, before leaving Harry’s dorm.

Its a short walk to the art gallery; shorter than Louis would have liked. Harry’s hand keeps brushing against his own as they walk, and just as he’s about to bite the bullet and just grab it, Harry is reaching out to open the door for him.

“A true, gentleman, you are,” Louis smiles, nodding his head at Harry as he slips through the door. He looks around for a moment before he feels the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on his lower back, leading him further into the gallery. “Which one is yours?” Louis asks over the quiet murmur of voices in the open room. It looks like most of the people are already here, the room just slightly crowded.

“Guess,” Harry says, closer to his ear than Louis expected him to be. Louis tries not to make it too obvious as he leans into Harry’s hand on his back and looks around the room at all of the artwork, his eyes lingering on each painting for a few seconds before moving on. He can feel Harry watching him and he takes his time, wanting Harry’s attention for as long as possible.

“I think… That one,” Louis decides, pointing to a canvas in front of them and slightly to the left. Harry moves his head closer to Louis’ to follow his line of vision, and Louis absolutely does not hold his breath.

“Close,” Harry hums into his ear, causing Louis to suppress a shiver, “but no. This one,” Harry says, and then his hand is on Louis’ back again, guiding him over to the opposite side of the room. They stop in front of a canvas that already appears to have a bit of an audience, people admiring it for longer than most of the other works.

Louis takes in the swirls of color in the painting, the different shades of blue and gold. “This is beautiful, Harry,” he says softly, definitely leaning into Harry’s touch this time as he looks up at it.

“Thank you.”

Harry’s thumb strokes over Louis’ lumbar, the tip of his pinky finger resting at the swell of Louis’ arse and Louis takes in a shallow breath. Louis nods slightly as Harry’s hand curves around and grabs at his waist to guide him over to his other works.

**  
**  
  


It’s 10 o’clock and Louis’ hands are itching to get ahold of Harry’s hand. His fingers are twitching against his pants and it’s a gravitational pull, drawing him closer to Harry, only making it worse. He’s been stuck by his side the whole time and he’s not sure if Harry feels something like he does or if it’s just internal friction.

They stumble out of the building giggling, their arms linked and their bodies close together as they begin walking back to Harry’s place.

“What did you think of everything?” Harry asks halfway there.

“I really liked all of your works.” Louis nods. “The first one we looked at was my favorite.”

Harry blushes. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

They arrive at Harry’s building only minutes later.

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” Harry asks, his hand resting on Louis’ waist. Louis shakes his head yes and they make their way to Harry's dorm room.

They get comfortable in the living room before Harry struts off to the kitchen only to bring back two cylinder tall glasses and some apple juice.

"I brought apple juice because I don't drink," Harry deadpans, setting the glasses down in front of Louis.

Louis smiles, "I love apple juice." He watches Harry fill up the glasses and slide one over to Louis while he takes the other. They clink cups together as Zayn makes his way out of his room.

He scratches his head, looking at the two boys groggily. "Are you the laundry kid?"

Louis swallows and nods. "That is me. But my mother calls me Louis."

Zayn adjusts his purple boxers before heading back to his room. Louis looks to Harry for an explanation.

"That's my mate, Zayn and he's not always rude like that."

Louis nods in agreement. "Well it is," he reaches over and looks at Harry's watch, "almost 11 o’clock."

Harry chuckles but Louis' fingers linger and he suddenly wants to show him something. He takes Louis' hand in his own and stands up, walking over to his art room. He pushes the room open, hand still holding Louis' and the apple juice.

“This,” he flicks on the light, “is where I paint.”

They walk into the room, Louis looking around and Harry’s eyes glued on him, waiting for his reaction.

There’s dry paint splattered on the cement floor and it’s kinda messy with all of Harry’s art tools splayed out on the wooden tables. He looks towards the big window, there’s a bar stool laying on the ground and a small, dirty pottery wheel.

He takes a loud sip of his apple juice and sighs quietly. “It’s nice.”

Harry’s hand clenches around his, just to make sure it’s still connected to his own, which it is. He then turns to take Louis towards the glass doors. He slides it open with his pinky and leads Louis through it.

“This is where I go to find inspiration,” Harry states.

Louis looks at the ground, seeing nothing but cigarettes that aren’t even half way used.

“You smoke?”

Harry nods, staring at the ground.

“Where do you keep them?”

Harry points underneath one of the lawn chairs. Louis wrenches his hand out of Harry's grip and reaches for the pack, flipping open the top and looking up at Harry. "Wanna smoke a few?"

"You smoke?" Harry repeats.

"Nope," Louis hums, pulling out a cigarette and accepting the lighter that Harry produces for him. "But I've always kind of wanted to try."

It's not a lie; Louis' stepdad used to smoke and Louis always tried to join him, but his mother would never even consider letting him. He lights the cigarette and places it between his lips, looking up at Harry as takes a drag.

Harry's eyes are locked on him intensely, watching his every move. Louis tries not to frown as he holds the smoke in his lungs, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. He tries to let the smoke back out of his lips in a seductive way, but ends up choking and coughing out puffs of it.

Harry barks out a loud, lovely laugh, stepping close to Louis to rub his back comfortingly while he coughs. "Attractive," he comments, and Louis glares at him when he pulls himself together.

"Let's see you do it, then," he humphs, letting Harry take the cigarette from his hand.

Harry sucks it in effortlessly, his eyes falling shut. Louis watches on silently as Harry fills his lungs with smoke, and when Harry opens his eyes and releases the smoke, Louis’ pouting at him.

"Teach me," Louis requests, Harry smiles as he steps forward.

"Here," Harry almost whispers, placing the cigarette between Louis' lips for him. Louis goes completely still, fingers twitching at his sides as he resists reaching out to grab at Harry's waist. "Close your lips," Harry instructs, and Louis does so.

"Now breathe in, hold, and breathe back out. Just let it out like how you would normally, don't try to force it," he shrugs, and Louis nods as he tries it. He moves his own hand up to hold the cigarette as he breathes in, replacing Harry's fingers with his own. Harry's hand drops to Louis' neck, his thumb gently rubbing over Louis' pulse.

They're close enough that when Louis takes the cigarette out of his mouth and releases the smoke, it puffs gently into Harry's face. Harry just blinks, and when the smoke clears, his big green eyes are all Louis can see.

They stare at each other for a moment before Harry uses his hand on Louis' neck to pull him in, their lips meeting in the middle. They kiss slowly, hesitantly, the taste of tobacco and apple juice lingering on both of their lips. Harry pulls an inch away before coming back and adding more to the kiss, his fingers tugging on the tips of Louis’ hair. Louis plants his hands on Harry’s chest, crumpling the shirt in between his fists.

They break away, Harry's hands still cupping Louis' neck and Louis' hands are fingering the sheer material of his shirt. They lock eyes for a second before they both grin, giggling into the space between them.

Harry's fingers tickle a bit at the back of Louis' neck, making him shiver and press closer to Harry's body. "Are you cold?" Harry asks, dragging his lips over Louis' cheekbone just slightly before pulling away. Louis lets Harry take his hand and lead him back inside, closing the door behind them.

Louis smiles to himself and runs a hand through his hair, looking down at his feet for something to do. He wants Harry to press him up against the wall and kiss him until morning, but its only a first date and it should be coming to a close soon.

“It’s late,” he tells Harry, looking back up at him. Harry just blinks, checking his watch and shrugging. Pieces of hair are falling out of his bun and his lips are pinker than they were a few minutes ago. Louis literally has to tear his eyes away. “I should go.”

Harry walks him to the door, that massive hand on the curve of Louis’ waist again. Harry opens the door for him and Louis spins around, leaning up on his toes to kiss him just one more time.

“Let me walk you home,” Harry breathes, their faces close. Louis can’t say no.

Their hands bump and brush for half of the walk to Louis’ dorm, until Louis finally, finally works up the courage to grab Harry’s hand in his own. He can see Harry grinning to himself out of the corner of his eye as their fingers slot together, and he can’t keep the grin off his own face.

“I had fun,” Louis hums once they reach his dorm, still holding Harry’s hand even though his other hand is already on the doorknob.

“Yeah,” Harry says, dimples out and his eyes twinkling. Louis smiles at his feet again to resist attacking him with kisses. “Can we do this again?” He asks tentatively.

Louis nods, and Harry kisses him softly goodbye. Louis runs straight to Niall’s room after he lets himself in, jumping on his bed and waking him up. He tells him all about the date, start to finish, and when he’s done he knows Niall is asleep again, probably has been the whole time, but he doesn’t care.

**  
**  
  


Louis has gotten progressively better at smoking and he’s not sure if he should be ashamed or proud.

He went out the day after his date with Harry and bought himself a pack of cigarettes, and he’s been practicing enough that he almost looks cool when he does it now. He doesn't think he'll ever look as cool as Harry does when he does it, though.

Louis would be lying if he said he doesn’t think about the way Harry looked with that cigarette between his lips at least nine times a day, usually more. Louis wants to see him again. Soon.

They've been texting every day for a week, but Harry hasn't said anything about a second date aside from what he said after walking Louis home. Louis is beginning to fear that he’ll have to ask Harry out this time. The thought is terrifying.

He should be worrying about other things like the 5,000 word essay on William Shakespeare he has to write before tomorrow and the 568 words he has. Niall has been gone since they ate lunch at 2 and Louis is itching to get out of the room.

He fixes his glasses a few time before he starts typing again.

_William Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets about people that he loves. It could have been about one person, but we will never know for sure._

Louis sighs. He's going to need three paragraphs about sonnets just to get to 1,000 words. But 592 words are a good start nonetheless. And since it’s a good start, he decides that it’s time for a pre-dinner snack. He rolls off the bed, sliding a bit when his sock covered feet hit the floor, and he makes his way to the tiny kitchen.

He pops the refrigerator open and holds the door with his hip as he ducks down for an already open water bottle, an orange and a yogurt. He grabs a spoon and heads for the couch ready for a study break.

**  
**  
  


Three oranges and two hours of _Workaholics_ reruns later, Louis is slumped on the couch, his hoodie riding up and his tummy is chubbier than usual. His glasses keep falling down, making the television blurry every few minutes and he’ll hastily push them back up so he won’t miss Adam DeVine tripping on shrooms and singing _Catherine Zeta-Jones_ while in an oversized t-shirt that’s stapled between the legs.

“One more, Louis. Control yourself,” He says, clicking on another episode.

**  
**  
  


Just one more, he told himself, one more episode and then he’ll do his work, but here he is on the couch three hours later with orange peels and cups of yogurt and crushed plastic bottles surrounding him. His torso his hanging off the couch, he’s passed _Workaholics_ and moved on to the fifth season of _Tosh.O_. The host is attractive and all with his ‘sexy stubble’ and themed clothes, but it’s a little raunchy and a lot racist.

Niall bursts through the door suddenly and Louis flies from the couch onto the floor, throwing the remote at the source of the noise. He sits up and looks when he hears Niall squawk in pain, laughing instead of apologizing at the sight of Niall standing there pouting, rubbing at his shoulder.

“That fuckin’ hurt,” Niall grumbles, and Louis just keeps laughing raucously. This is possibly the most entertaining thing that’s happened all day. “Don’t you have studying or something to do?” Niall suggests, flipping Louis off and then heading to his room.

Louis sighs and checks his phone for the time, gasping loudly when he sees that it’s already almost 3 in the morning. His essay is due at 8, which gives him 5 hours to write the more than 4,000 words he hasn’t even started. He gets himself back up on the couch and opens his laptop hastily, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he thinks. He types a total of five words before his phone lights up with a text, and he’s too curious to ignore it.

_I can’t sleep. Do you want to go to IHOP?_

He whines out loud at that, because going to ihop with Harry at three am is way more appealing than writing about William Shakespeare, but if he fails this essay he’s going to have a hard time passing the class. He starts typing out his gentle refusal but before he can send it another text comes in from Harry, and his resolve shatters.

_Please? I know it's late but I want to hold your hand and eat pancakes_

Louis sighs, deleting what he’d written and typing out a new message. 

_Unfortunately I’m more of a waffle kinda guy, but this is an offer I can’t refuse. Meet me at the bus stop in 20._

He sends the message and then stares at his laptop screen for a moment, heaving out a long sigh. Maybe he could email his professor in the morning and say he needs an extension due to a serious stomach bug. A Harry-induced stomach bug. He thinks his professor might buy it.

He changes his clothes and then sets off to the bus stop, leaving a sticky note on Niall’s sleeping face to let him know where he’s gone. When he gets to the bus stop Harry is already there, leaning attractively against the pole with a cigarette in his mouth. Louis bounces over and steals it from his lips, taking a puff for himself and grinning as he lets it go.

“You’ve improved,” Harry comments, and Louis nods as he hands it back over. Harry tosses it on the ground and stomps it out and then he digs in his pocket and pulls out four coins. He hands two to Louis and keeps two for himself, “For the bus.”

“I’ve got like four bucks,” Louis says, pulling out wrinkled bills.

Harry smiles and shakes his head, taking the money from Louis' hand and stepping close to him. "I'm paying," he hums, tucking the money back into Louis' pocket. Louis' argument dies in his throat and his heart speeds up. All he can do is nod.

Harry smirks at him and steps away as the bus pulls up to where they're standing. He takes Louis' hand and leads him onto the bus when the door opens, picking one of the many empty rows of seats. Louis sits down too close to him, their thighs brushing with every bump the bus hits.

They stay mostly quiet on the short ride, and Louis pulls Harry's hand into his lap to play with his fingers. They're both smiling to themselves like idiots, stealing glances at each other every once in a while.

When the bus finally stops at their stop, Louis jumps up and out of his seat, pulling Harry along behind him by his hand. Harry laughs beautifully as Louis pulls him down the empty street, the street lamps just barely illuminating their path. Breathless and giggling and stumbling over each other's feet, they make their way into ihop.

A tired looking hostess brings them to an empty booth, letting them sit and look over the menus. Louis kicks his feet against the pole under the table, reading through the waffle section of the menu until he hears Harry snickering quietly.

"What?" He asks, looking up and flicking some hair out of his face.

"That would be my leg you're kicking," Harry says, his smile brighter than every light in the restaurant.

Louis blushes down to his neck and stills his feet, holding up his menu to hide his face. He bites his lip to keep from smiling too wide, trying to make himself focus on deciding what he wants to order. When he lowers his menu again Harry is still just smiling at him, making him blush a little harder.

When the waitress comes over to take their orders Harry discovers he'd neglected to make a choice in favor of staring at Louis, and he scrambles to find what he wants. It's Louis' turn to smirk now, watching Harry butcher the name of the extravagant pancake dish he wants.

"Aw, you're cute when you're flustered," Louis grins, reaching out to pinch Harry's cheek lightly. Harry just keeps looking at him, and Louis' smile turns shy again. Harry grins slowly, causing Louis' blush to creep back onto his face.

"You look like art," Harry breathes, and Louis tilts his head in confusion as Harry reaches for his phone. He takes a picture of the window and all the blurry lights and then turns to Louis and snaps another one of Louis’ hands on the table and a bit of his mouth. He takes another picture of the top of Louis’ head and gets some of his windswept hair in but mostly the back of the store. Harry just smiles at the pictures he took, finally looking back up at Louis after a moment. "I think I’m going to paint this when I have time. Uh...Is that alright?" He asks, like it's just dawning on him that Louis might think this is a bit weird.

Louis just grins, though, as bright as the sun, and nods. Harry grins back and puts his phone down, already thinking about the colors he wants to use in this painting.

The waitress comes back with their drinks after a minute, placing them down in front of them and walking away again. Louis rests his chin in his hand with his elbow propped up on the table, his other hand gently stirring his chocolate milk with the straw. “I should be writing about Shakespeare right now,” he confesses, peeking up at Harry through his fringe, which is swept messily over his forehead at the moment.

Harry crinkles up his nose and sticks out his tongue, shaking his head at Louis. “Good thing you’re not, though. That sounds horribly boring,” he says, a sing-song tone in his voice.

Louis sighs longsufferingly and nods, his chin pressing into his palm with each movement of his head.

“I actually think you’d get along well with my buddy, Zayn,” Harry says after a moment, and Louis looks up at him skeptically.

“The one that called me ‘the laundry kid’?” He asks, eyebrows raised, and Harry laughs.

“No. Well, yes, but I told you, he’s not always like that. He was just tired. Usually he’s a bit more… sociable. Kinda,” Harry tries, and Louis snorts.

“Vague. But I’d love to meet him, if you want me to,” he smiles, and Harry just smiles back. Louis waits for him to go on, but Harry just stays silent. Louis sighs.

“So… What would I be meeting him as?” He asks, butterflies in his stomach already. Harry looks confused, so he continues, sitting up a bit and fiddling with his own hands on the table in front of himself. “Like, your friend, or…”

Harry finally catches on and blushes, staring at Louis with wide eyes.

“Or, your boyfriend?” He finishes hopefully, pinching the inside of his palm to keep him from fidgeting right out of the seat under Harry’s stare.

“Would- Do you want to? Be my boyfriend?” Harry asks awkwardly, and Louis kind of shrugs and nods at the same time, looking down at the table and then back to Harry. A grin splits over Harry’s face, and he surges forward across the table, grabbing Louis by the neck of his sweater and pulling him into a kiss.

Somehow Louis’ chocolate milk gets knocked over in the scuttle and lands in Louis’ lap, making him gasp and pull away from the kiss. He swears lightly as the cold liquid seeps through his jeans and, worse, through his boxers, standing up from the booth and trying to let the majority of it drip to the floor before it makes direct contact with his balls.

“Fuck, shit, sorry,” Harry says quickly, grabbing a wad of napkins and reaching out to try and clean up the mess covering Louis’ crotch. He gets on his knees in front of Louis for a better angle, even as Louis tells him that it's okay and to just leave it. The waitress finds them there a second later, because of course she does, and after a moment they all just burst out laughing. Well, Harry and Louis do, but the waitress just looks confused and slightly offended as they separate and shuffle back into their respective seats.

They sit quietly as the girl gives them their food, biting their lips to stifle their laughter. Louis is still most uncomfortable, as the chocolate milk had indeed found its way to his balls after all, but the food in front of them looks amazing and Louis doesn’t waste a second before digging in.

They talk and laugh and play footsie the whole time they eat, and by the time they leave, Louis’ eyes are drooping, despite all the sugar, and his pants are the grossest kind of damp. Harry gives him a piggyback to the bus stop when he sees how Louis is waddling, though not without thoroughly apologizing first. He offers to carry him again when they get off the bus, and Louis is truly incapable of anything but agreement at this point. He falls asleep with his face pressed into Harry’s neck on the short walk to his dorm, and only wakes up when he feels Harry digging in his pocket. He blinks blearily at Harry and the boy, Louis’ _boyfriend_ , just smiles back and waves his key in front of his face. Harry unlocks the door and carries him inside, and Louis sleepily directs him to his bedroom.

Harry goes to set him down on his bed but Louis protests, because his pants are still wet and he’ll have to get up to change them anyway. They share a lengthy goodnight kiss in the doorway of Louis’ bedroom before Harry leaves, and Louis ends up falling asleep in his wet jeans after all.

**  
**  
  
  


It’s been three weeks and three days since Louis and Harry have gotten together and it’s been 10 minutes since they started making out on Harry’s couch and Louis decided to straddle Harry’s hips. Louis’ hands are holding on to the back of the couch and his hips are working feverishly. Harry’s hands have a tight grip on his thighs, and he can feel feel each flex of his muscle.

“Zayn’s nice,” Louis breathes out, licking his bottom lip. Harry nods and leans his head back, exposing his throat which Louis takes as an offer and attaches his mouth to it.

“I- fuck. I told you.” Harry slides a hand around his bum and up around the indent of his hips, his fingers riding up Louis’ shirt a bit before he takes a gentle but solid grip at the back of Louis’ neck, pulling him in for another heated kiss.

Louis makes a strangled noise into Harry's mouth, grinding down a little harder and feeling Harry's grip tighten on the back of his neck. They're really just panting into each other's mouths at this point, too caught up in the pleasure to care about finesse. Harry's hands move back down Louis' spine and grab firmly at his ass as he pushes his hips up hard, and Louis is gone.

He whines and hiccups a bit into Harry's mouth as he comes in his pants, rutting down against him frantically. Harry lets out a deep, breathy moan as he follows, both of them slowing their movements to a stop. Louis catches his breath with his face pressed into Harry's neck, closing his eyes as Harry cards his long fingers through his hair.

Louis braces his hands on Harry's chest and pushes himself up, grinning lazily down at Harry. "Nice," he hums, rolling out of his lap and settling down beside him on the couch, cuddling close into his side. Harry wraps an arm around him and makes a quiet noise as he shifts a little, getting comfortable.

Louis knows they'll regret not cleaning themselves up later but for right now he can't be bothered to move, putting his head down on Harry's shoulder. Harry turns on a movie and they both inevitably fall asleep, warm and sated and happy.

**  
**  
  


He wakes up a few hours later to the sound of Harry's pained cry, jolting up quickly and nearly giving himself whiplash. He looks around and sees Harry pouting and rubbing at his chest, Zayn standing over him, snickering evilly.

"You two smell like sex, get out of the living room," Zayn demands, waving his hands like he's trying to shoo them away. "Me and Liam want to watch a movie," Zayn adds, and only then does Louis realize there's another person in the room.

He's pretty hot, Louis notices, short brown hair and big brown eyes, almost as sparkly as Zayn's own. Liam, Louis concludes, wraps his arm around Zayn's waist, calming his frantic shooing.

"Ignore him, you guys can stay," Liam smiles at them. His face crunches all up when he smiles and Louis thinks it's quite cute. He and Zayn look good together. He looks over at Harry next, who is watching him carefully. As cute as Liam may be, he has nothing on Harry's big green eyes and pink, pink lips, in Louis' opinion.

"Up for a movie?" Harry asks him, and Louis shrugs, cuddling back into his side.

"'M Louis," he introduces himself, holding out a hand to Liam, who shakes it happily. "Harry's boyfriend."

He still gets butterflies in his stomach when he says it, which might be a bit silly, since they've been dating for two whole weeks now. Harry keeps getting gradually more comfortable with the whole relationship thing, which Louis loves. They've talked about the fact that Harry has been asexual for the majority of his life and that some things that Louis might want will take some getting used to for Harry, and they're both okay with it. Louis just likes Harry, really; he doesn't mind having to wait for some things.

"Nice to meet you Louis, I'm Liam. Zayn's boyfriend," Liam grins, before he and Zayn settle down on the opposite side of the couch from Louis and Harry.

Harry falls asleep not even halfway through the movie that Zayn puts on, snoring loudly with his head tipped back against the back of the couch.

"Oh, dealbreaker," Louis sighs, reaching up to push Harry's jaw shut. Liam and Zayn laugh along as Harry startles awake, picking his head up groggily and looking down at Louis.

"Was I snoring?" Harry asks, voice soft with sleep, and Louis' heart does some kind of backflip in his chest.

"You were, love," he hums, patting Harry's chest consolingly.

"Was not," Harry mumbles, yawning a little and pushing his face into Louis' hair. Louis smiles and lets Harry fall back to sleep like that, enjoying the way his fringe moves every time Harry breathes out.

"You guys are cute," Liam coos from the other side of the couch, and Louis blushes a little bit as he thanks him. Liam smiles and cuddles a little closer to Zayn, his hand idly rubbing over Zayn's stomach as they watch the movie. Louis watches Liam's hand and smiles to himself, sensing how much the two of them love each other. He puts his own hand over Harry's stomach and just rests it there, feeling it expand with each breath Harry takes in.

There's a chance he'll grow to love this boy very soon, but there's a bigger chance that he already might.

**  
**  
  


They've left Zayn and Liam to themselves in the common room. Now, they lay together on Harry's bed with soaked hair, fresh from the shower. There's glowing stars on the ceiling above them; on their fourth date they spent nearly an hour buying decorations for each other's rooms. Louis chose glow in the dark stars and plants for Harry, and Harry bought some cheap Christmas lights that are strung around his own room. Harry's stroking Louis' hair could put them both to sleep, the only thing keeping them awake is the sound of each other's pulse.

"I think I’ve found my person," Harry whispers, breaking the quietness. Louis' fingers splay across his chest, waiting for him to continue.

"The one person who fills my empty space somewhere inside that I thought would never be filled. The person you meet and you just know that the situation happened for a reason."  He swallows thickly. "I met you at the laundromat at an ungodly hour and nothing in this whole universe could tell me that it wasn't fate; we were supposed to meet and we were supposed to fall in love."

Louis blinks back the stinging in his eyes and then looks up at Harry, even in the dark of the night he can tell Harry's eyes are wide and unmoving. Harry blinks and looks down at him, his eyes searching his face. Louis slides his hand up Harry's neck and pushes his thumb under the hinge of his jaw and pulls him down to kiss him. It has as much passion as their first unofficial date, the 3AM IHOP kiss.

 _If there was milk to spill_ , Louis thinks.

And he feels like he's drowning in everything that is surrounding him. It's cheap stickers, damp hair and so much space. It's so overwhelming, but he knew it and he felt it. From the first time he turned around the get the awkward boy's number to the last time their mouths were connected.

He's kissing him like his lips are the galaxies edge and he's floating, drifting through Harry's space and he feels it. He feels it all. He's flying straight into the brightest star, it's underappreciated and not given enough praise. Sirius is burning so bright and it's a welcoming heat that's never going to get old and die out. He's in love. He's in love.

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can follow us [here](http://lourryhelp.tumblr.com/) or individually ([fokingloosah](http://fokingloosah.tumblr.com/)) ([suspendrs](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/)). i love you.


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